


Through Thick and Thin

by Joel7th



Series: Hail Satan [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Horrance, Immortal Klaus Hargreeves, M/M, Mild Blood, Pseudo-Incest, Sexual Content, Spoilers for Season 2, mention of The Sparrow Academy, mild body horror, slightly dark, the dubcon goes with Lucifer, the rest of the siblings are in but they don't play major roles, the self-harm doesn’t go with Klaus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:56:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26543287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joel7th/pseuds/Joel7th
Summary: Ben turned to him with a glare that stunned him for a few good seconds because that, coupled with the facial scar and the spiky hair he had failed to tame, reminded Klaus of Sparrow Ben just before he unleashed The Horrors on him. “How much longer do you intend to keep that secret from them?”Here we go again.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves, Lucifer Morningstar/Klaus Hargreeves
Series: Hail Satan [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930132
Comments: 10
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is by no means a crossover but Lucifer’s appearance in this fanfiction is based on The Dark Lord/Lucifer of Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (portrayed by Luke Cook).

Spontaneous human combustion was so rare a phenomenon that it was mostly perceived as a myth.

However, when it was made a superpower, its chance of occurrence tremendously increased.

Such was the case of The Sparrow Academy’s Number Four.

If they each were to be assigned a color along with their number, Number Four’s would be red.

Everything about the petite girl screamed red, from her unkempt mane, her huge feline eyes and her makeup to the bizarre and unsettling method with which she utilized her powers: spraying her warm, flesh blood on her target and igniting it with a high-pitched whistle from her cherry lips. Boom. Spontaneous human combustion.

Klaus had shuddered at the mere thought of what Reggie’s deranged mind could have come up with in the name of ‘training’ Number Four to master her deadly powers. Imagine having to tear yourself open again and again and again, piling up new slashes on top of wounds that have not even begin to scab, until your skin becomes a labyrinth of scars and you are numb to most sensations save the most intense. He may have even shed some tears for her while Halsey’s _Gasoline_ was playing in the back of his mind if her target wasn’t him.

On hindsight, he was actually glad that Number Four had singled him out for her target.

Klaus felt a splash on his cheek and his fingertips came red and sticky where he touched the side of his face. He heard a whistle, loud and clear despite the chaos of battle surrounding him, and then he went up in flame.

That wasn’t an expression.

The strange thing was, he wasn’t in any pain. He felt every millisecond the excruciatingly unbearable heat melting away his tissues, sure, but the agony that should go hand in hand with being barbecued alive was going MIA. He couldn’t quite put his proverbial finger on whether this distinct absence of pain was a merciful byproduct of Number Four’s ability or an indirect result of his Satanic rendezvous — for someone who had tasted literal Hell fire, this flame was mere sparks dancing on skin, static in hair during winter months, irksome but harmless.

And speaking of Hell fire...

It started at the tips of his fingers, a flame so blue it could not belong to the mortal world, and rapidly it spread, swallowing up Number Four’s lesser flame like a ravenous beast. Fight fire with fire, his brain helpfully supplied while tuning out the background noises at the same time. He thought he had vaguely heard Vanya’s shrieks, and given the nature of her powers, it was never a good thing when she made a noise. Klaus would rather be Satan’s chew toy for a few extra hours than having any of his siblings watch this hellish display, but as with a lot of other factors in his existence, this wasn’t something within his (arguably limited) control; it was unlikely that he could go up to Satan and ask him to maybe curb his extraness a teensy bit and the King of Hell would be like “Sure, mate.” Klaus was painfully aware of the power imbalance in this relationship, if it even qualified as one: the Dark Lord might humor him and find his occasional barbs amusing, but at the end of the day, he was his puppy, barking and rolling and wagging his tail at his command. To ask Lucifer to listen to his pet’s request was much like asking a nun to hump someone’s leg, an analogy Klaus had so eloquently shared with Allison and Vanya.

Klaus squeezed his eyes shut to the sight of Ben turning his back on his opponent — the reckless fool, hadn’t Dad trained him better than this? — and rushing to him. He started counting.

Before he reached the two-digit numbers, Klaus was in Hell.

And Hell, well, Hell was... familiar.

It wasn’t like coming home after a long, tiresome journey, his bones aching and soul weighing down his body; it was like coming back to his solitary cell after a long day being passed around and beaten up and dragged down in the dirt. It was not necessarily pleasant, but at least he knew exactly what to expect and what he would get. Familiarity, he supposed, did give birth to a sense of security.

Klaus opened his eyes to the sight of Lucifer on his throne of polished skulls, an ever-knowing smile clinging to the edges of his thin lips.

What should he do? Greet him? Did the Dark Lord expect him to grovel at his hooves or something? Or stay silent and run headfirst into taunting territory? Really, if there was a _How to Properly Greet Satan for Newbie Pet/Slave etc.,_ Klaus would gladly devour every single word.

Apparently Klaus’s luck had been yo-yoing today, and now it was at the highest peak because Lucifer solved his dilemma for him.

“What happened to you this time?” he asked, leaning back against his throne and beckoning Klaus over.

“Sibling squabble,” Klaus answered, making his way towards the macabre seat, no invisible force coercing his feet. He kept his gaze straightforward, distracting himself with the Dark Lord’s ethereal visage so that he wouldn’t be foolish enough to peer at his roasted side. “Doesn’t the Bible just love it?”

“Who is your Cain?”

“Petite, pretty and pyromaniac, which explains why I’m having this smokin’ look.”

Lucifer let out a light snort, catching Klaus’s chin with cool, strong fingers that held so many sinful promises. He turned his head to the sides and studied his face (a literal hot mess, Klaus bet) with a disinterested look. “You look like Two-Face.”

“I’ll only need the suit,” Klaus replied, reflexively. Then something clicked, and he raised his brow — the remaining one — comically. “What? You read comic books? _The Devil_ reads comic books?!”

“I have watched the movies,” Lucifer replied with a casual shrug. “Every movie ever made since the dawn of cinema. I have offered a deal to some of mankind’s greatest filmmakers.”

It was not difficult to envision the Dark Lord waltz into a theater, mingling with ignorant mortals and standing out at the same time with his impeccable three-piece suit (black, it had to be) and larger-than-life attitude. How many people would have had mistaken him for a movie star and asked for his autograph?

“Anyone I should know?” Klaus asked.

“Anyone you _want_ to know?”

Klaus pouted. “That one time I boasted about conjuring Hitchcock with Diego and Ben and even set up a séance. It was a spectacular fail. They didn’t let me live it down for nearly a year. Guess Mr. Psycho’s been here all along?”

Lucifer’s smirk was his confirmation. “Together with all his cinematic creatures. Drop by and have a nice chat with him for however long you desire later. But first...”

It was entirely reflex’s fault that Klaus flinched when Lucifer’s hand shifted to his ruined face. He expected some kind of immediate discipline but the Dark Lord startled him with an amused little smile that _somehow_ threaded its way into his eyes. Klaus’s insides fluttered as he felt the effect of Lucifer’s immense powers on his flesh. It was a ghostly, cold caress not unlike rubbing an ice cube on a freshly burnt patch of skin and just as welcoming. Strange that he used to link the Devil with fire and brimstone and coal-heated touches, not ice trickling a shiver down his backbone and causing goosebumps to break out on his skin. Maybe it was fear, maybe arousal, because regardless of what he had been through during their short acquaintance, Klaus was ultimately magnetized to him. A pitiable and insignificant moth, its powerlessness before nature’s irresistible pull towards the flame the final nail in its coffin. At this point Klaus had given up on trying to detangle his feelings for his Master and just opened his arms to any sorts of emotions, even the toxic and tumultuous ones. One day he could even love him — not in the same way he had loved Dave and certainly not in the same way he now loved Ben, but it was love nonetheless. And when it came to love, twisted and bound to trample a couple hearts it might be, Klaus wasn’t in the habit of questioning its validity, just like he had never questioned the inexplicable link between pleasure and pain, he just basked in it and let it either sink or elevate him.

A tap on his cheek broke his trance. He held up both palms and found his skin unmarred save the twin Satanic marks. “Thank you,” Klaus breathed; it seemed the right thing to say at the moment.

One hand splayed on the small of his back, Lucifer pulled Klaus into his laps. “Do me a small favor when you return to the mortal world.”

Klaus was able to restrain himself from snorting. The way he phrased it made it sound like a polite request, but Klaus wasn’t thickheaded enough to see it as anything other than an order.

“It’s not like there’s room for me to refuse.”

Lucifer smirked, bringing his face closer until the tips of their noses touched. “Send me the soul of your Cain,” he drawled. “I may derive some fun from it.”

Klaus widened his eyes as if the act would allow him to read the Dark Lord’s veiled intention behind the half-smile. He couldn’t, as always. His Master was an open book filled with runes and extinct languages.

“Why do you want her soul?”

“It is none of your business,” he warned, alluringly gentle like a lover’s whisper. “Your business is deliver what I demand. As for how, you will know when you need to.”

Klaus exhaled, dipping his head in a mock of a bow.

What could he say to the Devil other than “Yes”?

“Good boy.”

His compliance earned Klaus today’s first treat in the form of a quick peck on the lips.

...

To say he made quite a scene was an understatement.

It had been a battlefield for superpowered beings, so naturally, a lot of booms, crashes and shouts were to be expected.

Every single noise, however, ceased like the whole abandoned warehouse was placed in a gigantic snow globe when Klaus’s charred body rose from where it had been laid on the ground, covered by an overcoat that smelled suspiciously like Luther. If Klaus was in a jollier mood, he would equate the effect to Jesus of Nazareth coming back to life and flipping the bird to the mass, but it was safe to say his current mood was decidedly soured by the fact that he had to shake the burnt skin and fabric clinging to his body. Gross, for sure, not to mention he adored this coat and tank top. When this was over — and he expected it to be soon, he needed to soak in a hot bath for three hours and no-one, not even the Dark Lord himself, could stop him.

“Come on, don’t look at me as if I’d grown a dick for my head,” Klaus said to both his siblings and the Sparrows, his tone airy. “It’s not the first time you guys have seen me springing back to life.”

As he got to his feet, brushing off a few more pieces of fabric, Klaus did a quick scan to assess his state, and he couldn’t help a grimace. While he did absolutely not mind exposing his skin to curious eyes, he would like to do so with carefully chosen attire instead of rags that barely preserved his modesty, which, again was never his top priority compared to presentability; he had a reputation to uphold after all. To add insult to the injury, he had to put on Luther’s overcoat — several sizes too big and hideously unfashionable — to mitigate the damage to Allison’s and Vanya’s psyche. They had witnessed their brother burn to a crisp; they did not have to see his intimate parts in broad daylight.

Number Four was the first one to snap out of the collective shock of seeing Klaus coming back to life well and whole like nothing had happened. He would have handed it to her if her next move wasn’t such a dick move. Apparently whatever Reggie had drilled into her head in training included the following motto: if you kill something and it doesn’t stay dead, do it until it does. Klaus might have a complicated relationship with facial but when he mulled about bodily fluids on his face, the last thing he would think of was blood.

Lucifer’s order rang loud in his head as he felt the sticky warmth on his face _again_. Two in a day was a bit too much. “If I were you, I wouldn’t whistle,” Klaus told her, heaving a defeated sigh. Even when he had very little love for his (failed) murderer, he took no joy in this assignment.

Number Four, as expected, disregarded his honest advice.

Nothing happened with the whistle, which understandably came as a shock to her. Klaus glanced around, taking in the ubiquitously bewildered look plastered on the others’ faces.

_You will know when you need to._

Now he knew.

Soon as his whistle penetrated the thick, viscous silence, mesmerizing sapphire flame engulfed Number Four.

“Satan says hi,” Klaus mumbled.

The miniature infernal reflected on his irises, he watched with newfound apathy until Number Four’s body crumbled in a pile of ash.

...

“For the last time, Five,” Klaus groaned in exasperation, “no, I haven’t developed pyrokinesis, which is the ability to control fire by the way.”

He had learned this word from Dave in one of their sleepless nights lying on their dirtied cots and talking about all the trivial things that happened to occupy their headspace. It was either that or heroin and there were only so many times they could get high without getting pulverized during a midnight raid.

His siblings had gathered in a tight circle around Klaus’s bed and Five, ever the most critical ass in the fam, had assumed the role of the interrogator, with Allison and Diego helpfully providing their resourceful input. Luther and Vanya sat side by side, wearing mirrored expression of disquietude while Ben had possessively claimed the spot right next to Klaus, his eyebrows not once relaxed since the beginning. While he had remained silent like a ghost (the biggest irony since he had never been able to remain silent _as_ a ghost), Klaus could feel him thrumming with anxiety on top of a fuckton of other emotions from where their skins came into contact. He could count on Ben to clam his mouth when their siblings were around but Klaus was one hundred percent certain he would be barraged with queries once they were alone and the door was secured. Though Klaus was deeply touched by this level of collective concern, it also triggered some of his claustrophobic tendencies and made him want to bury himself under a thick blanket so that he wouldn’t have to face them or the world for a precious while.

“So you mean that was a one-time thing,” Five deduced, a hard crease manifesting between his brows like he was encountering an exceptionally tough nut to crack.

“Yeah, basically, it’s not going to be an everyday thing so best not to count on it too much.”

“And Lucifer aka the fucking Devil ‘lent’ such a power to you without a catch?” Diego chimed in, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Magnanimous much?”

The first time he had died and come back (technically not the first time but he saw no point in guilt-tripping Luther), Klaus had given his siblings an abridged, heavily censored version of his jolly misadventure in Over-land along with his meeting the Big Boss. The uniformed dubious look on their faces afterwards had spoken loudly their shared suspicion that he had been using _again_ , but since they had not been able to dispute his wild tale, they had left it alone.

Klaus huffed indignantly. “The Sparrow _was_ the catch,” he stressed. “He demanded her soul, so it had to be delivered to him.”

“Why did he want her soul?” Luther asked, his face scrunched up. It was likely the chilling scene was playing in his head.

“It’s not like I’m his trusted confidante or something. My two cents is he wasn’t super fond of fixing damage that wasn’t done by him.”

The small motel room went quiet, catching on his slip of the tongue.

_Scheisse._

“Hypothetically speaking,” Klaus hastily added, but the damage was probably done. “Healing from all those freak burns wasn’t my ability either, that was all his doing. So in a nutshell I won’t die and any big or small injury I sustain will be duly fixed.” He flailed his arms wildly, hoping to distract them while retaining his confidence in the fact that none of his siblings beside Ben could see his disturbing marks. “Voilà, Mr. Invincible. On top of conjuring ghosts I can now be the meat shield, multipurpose—”

“Klaus!” Five and Ben snapped in unison, effectively shutting Klaus up. He looked around, feeling abashed by all the eyes staring at him, various emotions in display: disbelief, apprehension, trepidation, and in Five’s case, raging agonized fury — it was astonishing how something so vast could be contained in a vessel so small, so delicate. He dared not look to his left, where Ben was undoubtedly boring a hole through his face with his trademark pointed glare. “Sorry,” Klaus muttered, to none of them and all of them. “Lame joke.”

“The blue flame that, that swallowed you earlier, was that Lucifer too?”

“Yes, Vanny. It may come as a shocking revelation but the Devil does have a penchant for drama, and because it’s not a very Satanic thing to call me with a pay phone.”

Klaus’s attempt to lighten the mood yielded little success as he was the only one smiling, and even his smile met a quick death.

“He’s gonna call you anytime he wants?” Diego asked. “No matter where you are or whatever you’re doing?”

“Anytime,” Klaus echoed, glancing at his palms, where his marks glared back. “The concept of me-time is basically nonexistent to him. So, don’t worry yourselves to death next time you see me burst into blue flame. It’s just dear old Luci missing me.”

At his off-hand remark they all sported a horrified look, even Five, whom Klaus bet had seen some truly fucked up shit in his long life. “It’s not painful as it looks,” he quickly added. “All bark, no bite.”

“What if,” Allison asked, a note of hesitation audible in her normally light tone, “what if next time it happens, he won’t let you come back?”

That wasn’t part of the deal but Klaus couldn’t tell them that; sometimes ignorance was indeed bliss. “Then I have to get better at _not_ dying,” he lied through his teeth, discreetly sending _the_ look to Ben, who looked like he was one step from spilling everything, consequences be damned. “Not so easy-peasy when the opponents seem to always think I’m small fry. Super frustrating y’know.”

A disconcerting atmosphere descended upon them like a thick, smelly blanket. Klaus fidgeted under their pinning stare, spindly fingers itching for a joint; he had long given up the heavy stuff and only indulged himself now and then with a cig or a shot of bourbon. He had a packet stored in his bedside drawer but in order to get it he would have to lean over Ben, whose barely concealed stormy expression already gave him second thought.

“Listen everyone,” Five shattered the silence with his voice, full of authority in spite of his adolescent form and demanding everyone’s attention, “shift in priorities. From now on, keep Klaus from dying first and defeat our foes second.”

The rest turned to him with a solemn nod, an oath unspoken yet tattooed in their minds like the Umbrellas on their wrists (Vanya now had one).

The overwhelming sense of affection that filled Klaus’s heart to the brim, however, did little to soothe the gnawing guilt. He wondered how many more times he would die for his secret to be exposed. Between 11 and 25 maybe?

...

Of course Ben stayed after the others had already left, subtly ushered out by Klaus’s whine about “in desperate need of a bath.” They had been sharing a room these days and nobody would bat an eye when Diego asked for two doubles and three singles at check-in (for Hell’s sake Allison and Luther had finally dropped their stale will-they-won’t-they dynamic).

“Spill it, Ben,” Klaus bleated, “I know you’ve been _dying_ to give me a piece of your mind. Come on, chop-chop. I wasn’t joking when I said I might die again if denied a bath.”

Ben turned to him with a glare that stunned him for a few good seconds because that, coupled with the facial scar and the spiky hair he had failed to tame, reminded Klaus of Sparrow Ben just before he unleashed The Horrors on him. “How much longer do you intend to keep that secret from them?”

Here we go again.

“As long as I can,” Klaus replied from the en-suite bathroom, studying the standard motel tiny bathtub and clicking his tongue. He kind of missed the bathtub at his mansion in Dallas, which could hold him, Ben and a couple more. It was a shame Ben hadn’t been able to indulge in the sinful delight of a shared bath back then; when he had, his idiotic, naive brother had chosen to roll in the dirt instead. Urgh. “Forever, in ideal scenario.”

“You can’t keep lying to them.”

Klaus tut-tutted. “Withholding the whole truth is _not_ lying, pumpkin. There’s a difference, like I show you the PG-13 instead of the R-rated version of _Deadpool_.” He plugged the bathtub and turned on the tap. It probably took at least ten minutes to fill at this speed.

“Oh yeah,” Ben said with a scoff, “like you ‘withheld the whole truth’ that time Five inquired about my presence. Lying about _lying_ can’t be that easy and yet you’ve pulled it off pretty well.”

Ben’s remark hit quite close to home, causing Klaus to stop inspecting the limited choice he had for shampoo and shower gel and look Ben in the eyes. Ben met his gaze straight on with a throbbing challenge for Klaus to retort or justify himself. Too bad Klaus just begged to disappoint his brother every chance he got.

“I don’t think I’ve apologized enough to you,” he began, crossing over to Ben. “I was selfish and I only wanted to keep you for myself.” Then came “Still do, by the way” in a much lower voice.

He cupped Ben’s cheek in one hand while the other brushed over his jean-clad thigh. Even when he had a flesh to call his own, Ben was still touch-starved and Klaus aspired to take advantage of that, sometimes because he liked being a bitch-ass tease, others because they opted for a quickie before going out for yet another fight with the Sparrows — good for relieving tension and boosting morale.

Ben’s brows crinkled even as a blush was steadily creeping up his neck. “You’re a selfish jerk, that’s for sure,” he said without bite. “You don’t mean you’re lying to our family because you want to keep Lucifer for yourself?”

“Maybe I do, though it’s impossible since he has another boy — very pretty with olive skin and silver hair I might add — with him.” Klaus rolled his eyes. “And fuck knows how many more.”

“Frigging Satan?”

“Have you _seen_ him?”

Ben scoffed, crossing his arms. He tried to jerk his face out of Klaus’s hand, likely conscious of his brother’s using one of his distracting techniques on him. It was a half-ass attempt though, because he did nothing to dissuade Klaus’s other hand, which was snaking its way up and up. “Is there nothing that can make you tell the truth?” he asked. “Any incentive?”

“Nope,” he said with an audible pop for the ‘p’ and leaned in so that his lips were mere inches from Ben’s ear. “Unless there’s a serpent down my throat.”

He cupped Ben through his skinny jeans, making him jump. “Any kind of serpent,” Klaus whispered, grinning triumphantly when Ben squatted his hand away in order to salvage any speck of hope to maintain a serious discussion. Ben’s glare lost a fair amount of its usual gravitas thanks to his flamboyant blushes.

“It’s not fair,” Ben said in weighed tone, which strangled Klaus’s chuckles.

“Ignorance is bliss, as the old saying goes,” Klaus replied, free of his humor. “Their anxieties are already off the charts without this unnecessary piece of so-called truth.”

And that applied to Ben as well as their siblings. He got glimpses of Klaus’s deal with Lucifer because he wasn’t blinded to the marks on Klaus’s skin, but he was far from the whole, complex picture. As Klaus had made it clear earlier, he intended to keep the secret from them as long as he could, and that didn’t exclude Ben.

“It’s not fair for you.”

Klaus froze, thinking for a moment that Ben had somehow dug up his skeleton in the closet. “Not fair how?” he asked, feigning confusion.

“I don’t know the full extent of your deal but it can’t be all rainbow and sunshine. He’s Satan! Look at his brands all over you! And yet you’re keeping it all inside because that’s what you’ve always done! For fuck’s sake, learn to share for once, Klaus!”

It was like sipping aged whiskey. The liquid sloshed inside his mouth, burning his tongue _just_ right, and once it went down his throat and settled in his stomach, warmth spread through his entire body, seeping into every pore, making his head heady and his toes curl. Hearing Ben’s frustrated rant had that exact effect and more, for Klaus could hear his heart going ‘ba-dump’ in sync with every syllable. Being the nerdy bookworm, Ben rarely raised his voice at him, but when he did, Christ, it did _things_ to Klaus.

It had taken him nearly two decades plus losing Ben for good to come to a daunting conclusion that his brother had been his addiction of choice to beat all other addictions. Good news was, this time there was no chance of rehab.

“Oh Ben,” Klaus drawled, a hand on his heart, “why do you have to be such a romantic sap?”

“I’m no—”

Ben’s reply was cut way too short due to Klaus’s lips on the corner of his mouth. His tongue darted out, giving a few kitten licks to the seam of Ben’s lips. Before Ben regained enough composure to grab the back of his neck and dive in for a proper retaliatory kiss, tongues and all, Klaus, ever the trickster, pulled back sharply, eliciting a grunt from his brother.

“Confidentiality issues, baby,” he said breathlessly. “It’s a contract after all. Nothing I didn’t sign up for.”

“Even that spontaneous combustion freak show?” Ben asked, arching his eyebrows.

“It didn’t hurt at all, I swear,” Klaus stressed, raising three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a boy scout.”

“It’s the spirit that counts, Benny. Besides, I’d have made a fabulous one.”

He pinched Ben’s cheek, confident if not a little smug about his successful deflection of the truth bullet.

“In scout uniform?”

“I’d have rocked the hell out of that uniform, thigh-high shorts and heels and leaving a trail of glitter behind me as I sauntered into the woods.”

And that did the trick. The wrinkle between Ben’s brows was eased and he burst into laughter. Klaus took the chance to wrap his arms around Ben, nosing his brother’s neck and inhaling his sweaty scent like he was snorting cocaine. It couldn’t be a pleasant smell, and Ben was in need of a bath as much as himself, which gave Klaus an idea. He reluctantly parted with Ben’s body to rid himself of his only article of clothing — the tight leather pants, as he had been topless and going commando from the beginning.

“What’re you doing?” Ben shrieked when Klaus finished unbuckling his belt and started yanking his skinny jeans down.

“Come, we can take a bath together.”

Ben grimaced but showed no protest to Klaus’s attempt to divest him of his layers. “That thing can barely fit your noodle limbs.”

“We’ll make do,” Klaus replied, flinging the last piece into the small pile of their clothes to be washed later. He palmed him, testing the waters, and was pleased with the eager response just like always. He batted his eyelashes and grinned at Ben, whose stern frown was much undermined by his flushed skin and blown pupils. It amazed him how Ben was still so susceptible to his virgin blush even though they had basically tried every position in the book.

Klaus tilted his head toward the bathroom’s direction and tugged at Ben’s hand.

_To be continued_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said that there wasn’t going to be any sequel but inspiration can hit you like a truck when you least expect it. So here we are.
> 
> It was originally a one-shot but as I wrote, it got longer and I decided to split it into two parts. Besides I wanted to explore Ben’s POV because so far it’s been Klaus’s POV.
> 
> If Klaus seems a bit manipulative in this story then yes, he is. Being with Lucifer has rubbed off on him. 
> 
> The siblings know that Klaus had made some sort of agreement with Lucifer which allows him to come back to life when killed and that agreement allows Lucifer to summon him whenever he wants. They know nothing beyond that. Ben knows that Klaus has made a deal with Lucifer and Lucifer has marked him as his own but what exactly the deal entails he has no idea.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t fair.

These three words had been pounding in Ben’s skull as he had been relentlessly pounding into the body beneath him. “Come on,” Klaus breathed through kiss-swollen lips, half commanding, half egging him on with a sort of desperation Ben should find disconcerting if he wasn’t several inches deep inside him and having his bony ankles dig into the small of his back. Missionary was on the menu tonight, and there was unparalleled beauty in the classic, tried and proven true by generation after generation, as his eloquent brother had put. That it was his _brother_ subtly taunting him with his ‘slutting’ (his coined term) should have stirred up some serious moral crisis in Ben but as of now it had been smoke from a faraway fire, and his mind was fully occupied with rendering Klaus a writhing, moaning mess, which proved to be a lot more challenging done than said despite the responsive wonder that was Klaus’s body. Ben hated to admit it but his knowledge in the bedroom department wasn’t going to impress any soul, seeing that he had died a virgin teen while his brother, on top of having literal decades’ worth of colorful experiences, many of which Ben had been _fortunate_ enough to bear witness, had added Lucifer to his extensive list of lovers. _Fucking_ Lucifer, how could Ben ever measure up to that?

Still, that was surprisingly not the true reason for the mantra in his head. Ben was wise enough to steer clear from the debilitating habit of putting himself in comparison route with Klaus’s lovers — a sure-fire way to flatten his ego into two-day-old pancake. The true reason, unsurprisingly, had just lifted his torso in a manner unadvisable to non-yoga practitioners in order to sink his teeth into Ben’s Adam’s apple because someone was being an impatient little shit.

A low, throaty noise left Ben’s lips, its cause leaning towards annoyance for being caught off guard by Klaus’s whimsicality rather than actual pain; as ardent a supporter of the pain-and-pleasure principle as Klaus was, he had never actively inflicted pain on Ben, knowing it was a big no-no in his brother’s kink book. To be honest, it still weirded Ben out how some people could derive pleasure from getting hurt — not to kinkshame anyone, certainly not Klaus, but he just... did not get it. Every time The Horrors burst out from his abdomen it was this tearing agony, whether in his current body or the one that had turned into skeleton, and every time Ben would howl until his throat felt raw, so he could never wrap his head around the fact that there were people who might find it a turn-on. On the other hand, he knew Klaus’s kinks more than Diego ever could (took no small pride in that), and that meant he knew Klaus liked it rough, liked being manhandled and tossed around and choked until he teared up. As vehemently as he always denied it in front of Klaus, Ben actually liked giving his brother what he wanted (within reason, of course), and thus with some reluctance mixed in practice-makes-perfect, he clamped his hand around Klaus’s throat and started applying force. Klaus’s brows relaxed at once, his eyes closed and his face broke into a wide grin as his chest rose and fell with sharp intakes of breath.

“Happy now?” Ben asked, punctuating his sentence with an unforgiving thrust that drove Klaus further into the headboard. He was pretty sure whoever on the other side of the thin wall had heard every single minute of their nocturnal pastime.

“Yeah,” Klaus drawled, raking his blunt nails down Ben’s sweaty back. “But a lil’ harder, please, _Ben-chan_.”

Then Klaus opened his eyes and Ben almost bit his tongue.

His eyes were red and glowing like someone had swapped his beautiful green irises with two pieces of hot coal.

This wasn’t the first time Klaus’s eyes had undergone freakish transformation and theoretically speaking, with the frequency with which it happened when they were alone together (never when their siblings were around, odd), Ben should be nonchalant about it by now. In reality though, it usually cast a stunning spell on him, which was only broken when the goddamned color receded and everything went back to normal, or as normal as possible with the knowledge searing into his mind that Klaus had just granted him a literal glimpse of Hell. Worse still, Klaus himself was oblivious to his own change and its less-than-welcome effect on his brother, and Ben didn’t find it in his heart to let him know how his blood had clotted in his veins at the sight of Klaus, crimson-eyed and blasphemously marked, declaring fealty to Satan in his softest tone. And the rotten cherry on top had been his eerily serene expression which to date still creeped him the heck out in recall.

There lied the cause of Ben’s mantra.

Klaus had changed, such was the cemented truth Ben had tried and tried to uproot in vain.

As a former resident, Ben knew how flimsy the concept of time was in Hell, and more often than not it took a backseat to the Master’s whims. It may look as if you are only gone for the span of a blink but in your own reality, you have already been through all nine lives. Ben could see with his eyes that Klaus’s time with Lucifer, be it a few moments or an eternity and a half, had altered him. Physically, mentally, spiritually. Carved out pieces of him and filled in the chasms left behind with Hell’s particles so that his brother turned intrinsically, inescapably Hellbound. Just like he was ignorant of his red-eyed situation, he also appeared unaware how manipulative he had become as of late. It left a bad taste in Ben’s mouth how naturally Klaus shifted into a mode where every sweet word and flirtatious gesture served to deflect, distract and generally sweep the matter under the rug until the next time it surfaced, rinse and repeat. Time and time again Ben fell for them because he failed to be stronger and call him out on his shits, which he had been able to as a ghost having neither Klaus’s hand or mouth on his cock every morning and sometimes after lunch. How fucked up was that?

“Ben-nuhh,” Klaus groaned, low and needy, lifting his hips and digging his heels into Ben’s toned back, one of the few things Ben wasn’t obliged to change. Sparrow’s Number One did have better figure, he had to admit. All these muscles he might never have developed on his own given how big of a bookworm he was.

“It’s unfair to let your mind roam free while your dick is busy.”

“It’s unfair you still manage to babble while being choked. Guess it’s too lax for you huh?”

Ben tightened his grip to make his point.

A filthy moan was released from Klaus’s bitten lips, sending a shudder down Ben’s spine. It took all his will to pull himself back from the brink of his climax.

“Yes,” Klaus wheezed, squeezing his eyes shut. From a corner of his eyes a dewdrop rolled down his cheekbone, heavily accented by his dwindled weight. It was by no means healthy nor should it be encouraged but Klaus had that sexy skinny look which sparked envy from all genders instead of making him the perfect poster boy for eating disorders ads. A gorgeous pink colored his skin from his cheeks all the way down to his prominent collarbones and stopped just shy of his tiny hardened buds. Sprawled on the crumpled sheet of a motel bed, he posed a flawless picture of eroticism blended with vulnerability, and it was not easy to make up your mind about whether you should fuck him senseless or wrap him in a fluffiest blanket, stroke his curls and dribble honeyed words into his ears. How unfair it was that many had seen this look and sought to use him for their wicked ends instead of cherishing him for once? And Satan, well, how would he differ from the greedy, selfish mortals, being the Father of Sins after all? Ben couldn’t begin to fathom what sorts of horrors he had inflicted upon Klaus when those grotesque brands were only a souvenir, not when his brother was guarding them like treasures to take to his grave. The selfish prick!

Ben’s hand let go of Klaus’s throat and before his whiny brother regained enough sense to whine about it, its palm pressed against Klaus’s cheek and its thumb wiped away the mix of reflex tear and sweat clinging to his skin. Klaus snapped open his eyes, thankfully normal, staring at Ben like this tenderness had come out of nowhere when he had expected to come unravel with fingers crushing his windpipe and then parade his bruises with skin-tight plunge-neck tops for as long as they lasted.

Ben met his eyes and in that prolonged stare he did his best to convey what had been on his mind — concern, apprehension and tremendous amount of love — to Klaus and hoped his brother got them all; Klaus’s exceptional level of empathy wasn’t given due credit by their siblings but Ben was different. It wasn’t in their Hargreeves-patented programming to lay their feelings in the open; emotional honesty was something that required a ton of work, and they all had made the minimum progress in general honesty. Still they tried, and where they failed to be verbal, they resorted to physical — a crease between their brows, a wrinkle of the nose, a light squeeze of fingers and Ben’s personal favorite: a long, intense gaze that served multiple purposes. Seemed pretty apt for this moment.

“What’s up, Benny boy?” Klaus asked, catching Ben’s attention by catching his thumb between petal-soft lips. “Don’t leave me hanging here.” A beat, and he glanced down between them. “Quite literally.”

Ben pressed the pad of his thumb against the velvety inside of his mouth, and Klaus immediately sucked on it like he had been holding his breath to do so. “Timeout, probably,” Ben replied.

Klaus’s voice sounded somewhat muffled with Ben’s thumb in his mouth. “There’s this term call ‘thorn’, a portmanteau of ‘thought’ and ‘porn’, meaning you’re thinking too hard in the middle of creating porno.”

Ben snorted. “Who coined such a term?”

“Me, and you’ve been doing that a lot tonight.”

“I only recall doing you for the last half-hour or so.”

“Which I would very much like you to go on, please.”

Ben huffed before smashing his lips with Klaus’s. His hands came to rest on Klaus’s waist, fitted snuggly between his palms, and with very little warning, he lifted Klaus up and shifted their positions so that Klaus was now on top of him, all the while keeping himself firmly sheathed inside his brother. Klaus’s yelp was the reason for his smirk.

“Jeez, give a gal some warning first,” Klaus complained, punching Ben’s shoulder.

Ben retaliated with a sharp thrust upward, making Klaus’s breath hitch. He then craned his neck to drag his tongue over a dusky nub and felt Klaus’s violent shiver where their bodies were welded together. Funny it was how his brother could still produce witty remarks with Ben’s fingers up his ass but he keened and mewled and made all sorts of incoherent little noises whenever the lightest form of nipple play got involved. His obvious Achilles’s heel. Hell would freeze over before Ben refused to take full advantage of that as payback for all the sneaky moves Klaus had pulled on him since they decided to fuck their pseudo fraternal tie and fuck each other.

“I’m thinking about you riding me until we come,” Ben drawled, aiming for flirty and kind of failing with his mouthing Klaus’s nipple.

“Why must everyone make me work so hard for what I want?” Klaus bleated, as expected. Also expected was the experimental roll of his hips while his backbone curved in an impressive S-line even porn stars would admire.

“Free culture is dead. Besides, don’t you love cowboys and rodeos?”

Klaus pouted, putting his hands on Ben’s firm abs to support himself as he started setting up a motion, drawing a choked moan from Ben’s lips.

“Yee-haw,” Klaus replied, sounding more worn-out than he usually let out. It alerted Ben, whose brain was swimming in a soup of hormones and screaming at him for some actions already. He ignored them for the time being. “Are you OK?” he asked, caressing Klaus’s cheek and discreetly checking for any moisture. It had been a long day for Klaus and Ben knew it, but as always he had been swept into Klaus’s passionate whirlwind. “We can, you know, call it a night and cuddle or something.”

It turned out in the right setting Klaus’s glare could effectively shut him up without the Satan’s filter effect. “Stop now and I swear to Lucifer I’m gonna make takoyaki out of your Bentacles,” he growled.

Klaus made his threats like he made his jokes — never were they fully what he intended them to be, and while he was liberal in dispensing the latter, not even his enemies were treated with the privilege of the former very often. Yet when a threat did come, delivered in his low, sultry voice which Ben was willing to bet all his money that he was aware and aimed to utilize to the fullest, they sent electric sparks throughout his nerves. The timing was a bit off but Ben had just gotten a small epiphany on the subject of his kinks, and he imagined Klaus would say now was as good a time as any if his mind’s focus wasn’t entirely on how to wring the most pleasure out of his seat atop of Ben.

It was nothing short of astonishing how easily they discovered and settled into a rhythm even though they had not had plenty of practice with this position, at least not as Klaus would like; his brother was such an epitome of insatiable that the adjective might as well have been invented for him. Once they had it figured out and even that didn’t take very long, it became auto-pilot mode where Ben instinctively knew to thrust up as Klaus ground down on him, to steady him with hands on his waist as Klaus started to rock with abandon. A type of sex-clairvoyance Klaus no doubt had made an off-hand joke about. Maybe it was because they had spent most of their existences together and even shared the flesh at one point that they worked like a well-oiled machine running on sighs, grunts and moans rather than words strung into coherence. That worked for Ben too, as nonverbal meant less headspace for distracting thoughts and more for immersing in overloading sensations.

Ben snaked a hand down to wrap around the heated flesh bouncing on his stomach. Klaus didn’t need to tell him he was close; his quick pants and rough movements, almost brutal, and the way he clenched impossibly tight around Ben had said it all. Ben himself was close, edged inch by delectable inch to the precipice by Klaus’s honed skills, and any second now he would tip over and plunge headfirst into the sea of release. The thought sped up his hand to a painful pace and he would feel sorry if he had more than two brain cells working together. Klaus wouldn’t let a little sting deter him from pursuing his climax; if anything, it might even provide a little boost.

Klaus arrived at his peak first, burying his face in the crook of Ben’s neck and marking him, his promise to not get rough on Ben temporarily forgone in a hormonal rush. Having Klaus’s teeth on his skin was the last push for Ben to cross the threshold and come inside his brother. With a multitude of colors swirling behind his closed eyelids, he barely registered Klaus’s weight as his brother collapsed on top of him. Silence and the flickering glow from the dusty bed lamp cocooned their bodies, boneless and absolutely still in post-coital haze. After an indefinite amount of time catching their breaths and gathering their scattered wits, Klaus wiggled his hips to get off Ben, making soft grunts like a frustrated pup when come slid down the inside of his thighs. Ben reached for the box of tissues on the bedside table and helped him clean up. “Shower?” he suggested, gesturing at the bathroom’s door. “Just a quick one to wash away the come and sweats.”

“Only if you carry me. My legs are technically noodles right now.”

...

Ben ended carrying Klaus into the shower (he was even lighter than the last time Ben had lifted him up for that obnoxious trick) and out because somewhere during their quick shower, his brother had slipped into snoozing mode and would have hit his head on the tiles but for Ben’s intervention. Knowing Klaus preferred to sleep in the nude, Ben didn’t bother to help him into anything before laying him on top of the mattress. After putting on a pair of plain black boxers, he got on the bed and pulled Klaus, who loved to be the little spoon despite his long body and limbs, against his chest. Sleep hadn’t come yet and in the quietude of the night, Ben suddenly developed newfound appreciation for a cigarette after sex. Klaus was probably keeping a pack in the drawers, together with a couple tubes of lube, which had become a daily essential item. For a few moments Ben debated with himself whether to reach for the drawers and in the end, rationality won and his fingers twirled the damp curls at Klaus’s nape instead.

Klaus smelled of the nondescript brand of shower gel the motel provided — floral, sweet and wholly not-Klaus — when Ben leaned in to nose the tender skin under his ear. Then things took an unexpected turn as the earlier scene in the warehouse nonconsensually played in his head and the wholesome scent was replaced with burnt flesh. His arms wound around Klaus’s frame so tightly that Klaus stirred and tried to turn around in his crushing embrace. “Ben?” Klaus asked in sleep-laced voice, looking blearily at Ben.

“Did it hurt?”

Klaus blinked at him, looking rightfully confused. “Did what hurt?”

“When Four’s flame burned you, but it was nothing compared to that Hellfire, wasn’t it?”

Ben had had a chance to see Hellfire once during his stay in Hell and he remembered being mesmerized and terrified by its sheer power in equal measure.

“I told you already, it didn’t.”

“Really?”

Klaus let out a puff of breath against Ben’s chest. “Really,” he stressed. “It wasn’t painful at all, I didn’t even feel the heat. Say what you like about Satan but he doesn’t do nonsense suffering.”

Ben wanted to snort but restrain himself in time. Klaus had dealt with his family not believing what he said too much to be healthy and Ben had made himself a promise to be different. Besides, Klaus usually told his siblings the truth (except that time when Ben had been involved); it wasn’t his fault the truth itself didn’t encourage belief.

Klaus touched Ben’s arm and put it on his waist as he resumed their spooning. “Sleep,” he ordered, yawning. “Five won’t let us live it down if he knows we spent the better part of the night fucking and are groggy in the morning. He has plans for us, or so I heard.”

Though Ben closed his eyes, he wouldn’t see sleep coming for him soon with his mind buzzing.

It was an insane idea that sprung forth from his jumbled thoughts, in fact so very insane that he was determined to try it.

_To be continued_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, in fact, ‘thorn’, or porn with thoughts.
> 
> What had been originally a few short paragraphs turned into 3,000+ words of porn. It’s funny how the mind works sometimes. As a result, I had to add another chapter while it was supposed to be a two-part story and changed the tags.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy this interlude. I’d love to know what you think about it and about the story in general.


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